Tom Ames' Prayer

Everyone in Nacadoches knew Tom Ames would come to some bad end

Well the sheriff had cought him stealin' chickens and such

by the time that he was ten

And one day his daddy took a ten dollar bill

and he tucked it in his hand

He said I can tell you're headed for trouble son

and your momma wouldn't understand

So he took that money and his brothers old bay

and he left without a word of thanks

Fell in with a crowd in some border town

and took to robbin' banks

Outside the law your luck will run out fast

and a few years came and went

'Till he's trapped in an alley in Abilene

with all but four shells spent

And he realized prayin' was the only thing

that he hadn't ever tried

Well he wasn't sure he knew quite how

but he looked up to the sky

Said you don't owe me nothin' and as far as I know

Lord don't owe nothin' to you

And I ain't askin' for a miracle Lord

just a little bit of luck will do

And you know I ain't never prayed before

but it always seemed to me

If prayin' is the same as beggin' Lord

I don't take no charity

Yeah but right now Lord with my back to the wall

Can't help but recall

How they nearly hung me for stealin' a horse

in Fort Smith Arkansas

Judge Parker said guilty and the gavel came down

just like a cannon shot

And I went away quietly

and I began to file and plot

Well they sent the preacher down to my cell

He said the Lord is your only hope

He's the only friend that you gonna have

When you hit the end of Parker's rope

Well I guess he coulda' kept on preachin' 'till Christmas

but he turned his back on me

I put a home made blade to that golden throat

and asked the deputy for the key

Well it ain't the first close call I ever had

I'm sure you already know

I had some help from you Lord and the devil himself

It's been strictly touch and go

Yeah but who in the hell am I talkin' to

there ain't no one here but me

Then he cocked both his pistols and he spit in the dirt

and he walked out in the street

Junkyard Faith

Most of you have heard the saying, "It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog." I can easily testify to that! Let me give you an example from my own life:


Nightclubs always like to start new bouncers off on busy nights, usually Friday or Saturday. It’s sort of a trial-by-fire attitude. And I think it was a Friday that I found my young-self on my first night at a Deja Vu Gentleman's Club. Dressed in black slacks and an over-sized wrinkled white dress shirt (which they’d let me borrow) as I was being 'shown the ropes' of strip club bouncing.


I had done some teenage dance club stuff over the previous year but I was still so very naïve and never even been into a place like this. This place was simply, a Porn Palace- brass mirrored high-rise ceilings reflecting swirling and strobing lights across two floors with 3 stages. Over 100 nude dancers in clear stilettos prowling like purring cats in every dark corner of a spiraling complex that could easily hold a thousand drunk and shouting lust-enraged men. And this place was packed! I could hardly see across the bass-pounding, smoke-filled room.


And I guess it was around midnight when the very large, well dressed and dangerously acute manager of the club approached me. And with complete control while staring intently down at his clipboard of girls names he took the cigar from his mouth and said in a deep and commanding voice, “There’s two guys on a VIP couch over by the DJ booth. They can’t sit there. Tell them to move.”


And in my own young, tall, twitchy, and over-caffeinated way I shouted back, “Yes Sir!” and headed to the couch area. Once there I rolled my shoulders back, put on a smile and said with all politeness something to the effect of, “Hey guys, can I help you find a different seat?” when one of them sharply interrupted me saying, “No A**hole, you can find us a couple b*tches to come party with us.”


I wasn’t ready for this. I was almost frozen by it. I was use to teenagers with glitter and small backpacks who listened to ABBA played at high-speed as they danced through a dozen overpriced bottles of water. This was something totally different. These guys looked like Marines straight from boot camp who couldn't wait to get deployed anywhere violent.


Frankly, I was scared. But I wasn’t going to tuck and run that easily so I tried again by smiling nervously and saying, “I’m sorry guys, I was just sent to tell you that you can’t sit here.” And you’d think by the expression that suddenly came over both their faces as they turned to stare directly through me that I’d just told these guys I’d ran over their mother.


A bloodshot rage lit up in their eyes that started my whole body shaking as the larger of the two muscle-pulsing men sat up rigidly and slid to the edge of the couch and challengingly said, “Why don’t you go ahead and move us then.”


I could tell right away these guys were ready to brawl and that’s the last thing I wanted. So now being completely off guard and trembling like a leaf I went back to the manager and started to explain by saying, “Sir, I think we have a problem…” But he cut me off too and shouted, “No pencil-neck, we don’t have a problem! You have a problem! Get those two guys outta my club or you can get out of my club and never come back!” Then he plugged the cigar back into his mouth and continued writing on his clipboard as though I wasn’t even there.


I had to make a decision. How bad did I need this job? How much was this job worth to me? I knew I was flat broke and starving. I was new to town and had spent the last month sleeping on the floor of a friend’s basement apartment. In fact, I had to walk almost 5 miles just to get there that night and would have to walk the same 5 miles back at whatever late hour I got off. I’m not even sure if I had eaten anything other than a couple sugar packets from the bar. No, there was no other option. I needed this job bad.


So with a mocking smile and an screw-it attitude I said back to the manager, “Oh I know its my problem. I was just letting you know so when you see chairs and tables flying out of that area, you wouldn’t worry cause that’s just me laying down the law!” To which he chucked a little then soberly said, “Get going Sherriff.”


I turned on my heal and walked back toward the couches. Then stopping to think clearly at the last minute I ducked into the nearby glass DJ both. The DJ had met me earlier and wasn’t impressed by my puny size so now he hardly bothered to look at me as he went on digging through his collection of CD’s. I didn’t look at him either as I took off my clip-on tie and started unbuttoning my dress shirt. Then as I pulled the shirt off my shoulders and began folding it neatly the DJ finally glanced over with an annoyed expression and said, "What are you doing?"


And with my voice trembling as I laid the folded shirt down I said with all honesty, "I might not win this fight and I can't afford to pay for this shirt after I've bled all over it." Then without looking back, I walked out of the booth and toward the two men.


They’d both been laughing with one another thinking I had given up when one nudged the other and pointed to me now standing in front of them with trembling spaghetti arms in my pit-stained tank-top. I clenched both hands into the tightest fists I could make and quickly said, “You want to do this one at a time or all together?”


Now, the look on their faces was priceless; just complete bewilderment. For almost whole minute they just stared in silence at this pathetic, boney kid standing like a prisoner before a firing squad ready to go down swinging at the bullets. Then they looked at each other and began laughing. Suddenly one of them bolted to his feet quicker than I could blink and with his nose almost pressed into mine as he breathed on my face he said, “We were just leaving anyway.”


Then they both stared coldly at me as they slowly grabbed their coats. And as they passed by, the second one gave me a shove with one hand that sent me tumbling completely back over their table as the two of them laughed again and left for the night.


Now gathering myself together as quickly as I could and cleaning up the ashtrays and glasses I had knocked over, I went back over to the manager to see if I still had a job. The manager stared at me with the same bewildered expression those two guys had. “There gone sir” I reported with eyes wide open in my own shock. Finally his eyes dropped back down to his clipboard as he sighed and said “So what, get back to work.” “Yes sir” I answered.


And as I turned back toward the DJ booth the Manager yelled out one last time, “Hey Poindexter! Only girls get naked here. Got it?” “Yes sir” I said again with a little smile as I hurried to get dressed and keep working.


So my point is this- The fight in the dog can definitely determine the outcome. But not always the way you might think. To me at least, it really comes down to the hunger. How hungry is this dog? Is he starving? Is he small and wasted to nothing? Just thin skin and sharp bones as his fragile frame prowls whichever junkyard he’s in? Is he cold and wirery? Would he attack something twice his size just for one chance to sink his teeth into anything warm?


Because to me that’s how we need to live. If we hope to get through this life without surrendering into some self-induce overly sedated coma of existence, we’re going to need to start letting ourselves starve a little. Let’s test our faith to get the flavor back. Get out of our emotional comfort zones. Stretch our goals, take our chances. Let’s get a little desperate and even delirious with a passion that makes you sweat.


Because we should always get a little twitchy about where our hearts lead us. About what we love- What we need. Not resting in what we have. Not settling for what we get. But like when we were young, alone, cold, and starving- Let’s all get back to that stripped down, bare-boned, junkyard faith that’s always willing to fight as though our next meal depended on the outcome.


To me at least, for all its outward flaws that’s still a life worth living.



"For if anyone thinks he is something, when he is nothing, he deceives himself. But let each one test his own work, and then his reason to boast will be in himself alone and not in his neighbor. For each will have to bear his own load."
-Galatians 6:3-5

Heat

"When you are in the middle of the Heat, you haven't somehow gotten yourself outside the circle of God's love and care. God is simply taking you where you do not want to go to produce in you what you could not achieve on your own."


"I can admit my faults with no need to minimize, hide, or give way to paralyzing guilt. I can confess that I need to grow without beating myself up. I can cry out when life is hard but accept responsibility for the way I deal with it. I don’t have to cover my sin, polish my reputation, and keep a record of my successes. I can look at my tomorrow’s with enthusiasm and hope.


Yes, I am still a flawed person in a broken world. But my view of myself is not dark and depressed because the gospel has infused it with HOPE. Christ is with me and in me, and I will never be in a situation where he isn’t redemptively active.


Though change is needed in many ways, I am not discouraged. I am in the middle of a work of personal transformation. This process is often painful, but always beneficial.”
-Paul David Tripp, How People Change



"Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice insofar as you share Christ's sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed."
-1 Peter 4:12-13

3:16

Blessings and Woes

Here's a great sermon by Matt Chandler from my daily studies this last week. Give it 3 minutes, if you're not sold on Matt in that time you can move along :)

Click this link below:
Blessings and Woes

Meaning Makers

These are just some notes and quotes from a book I’m studying called, How People Change by Timothy Lane and Paul Trip: In chapter 3 the author teaches us that we are “meaning makers”, unconsciously but incessantly. We never stop trying to figure life out.


Whether we suffer, strive, achieve, or relax, we continually ask ourselves, What is the point? What does it all mean? And here is the important part: the answers we give ourselves, the meanings we give to our thoughts, circumstances, relationships, and actions, move us in specific directions.


It’s as though we are trying to re-write the script in the middle of our own life stories so that we can make sense of what’s going on. Because instinctively, we sense that things are not the way God designed them. And ultimately we convince ourselves that a change needs to take place.


But shouldn’t we first consider that God is already working? And that our current circumstances are intentionally placed here by God’s hand? Not for our purpose of changing them, but in God’s plan to change us. Essentially, that we all spend too much of our lives trying to change the outside circumstances which God has intentionally allowed in order to cause change and growth in our own hearts.


This helps me to understand what Paul says in Philippians 1:6, “That he (God) who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Jesus Christ.”


Because the author then goes on to say, “No matter what you face today, you can be encouraged that God’s good work continues in your life, even when you don’t see it. God continues his work right in the middle of that tough situation at work, or with your teenager, or that battle with your weight, or your struggle with discouragement. God moves you forward as you submit yourself to him.”


So we can all rest in the presence of Jesus as we say to ourselves, “He is working right now to complete what he started in me.”


And as for me, I have to remind myself that growth in God’s grace is a process, not an event. That, “The Christian life is a journey that often takes us through the wilderness. You will get tired and confused. You will have moments when you wonder where God is. You will struggle to see God’s promises at work in your life. You will feel that following God has brought you more suffering than blessing. Sometimes it just seems as though the wrong side wins.” But I don’t have to figure everything out as its happening.


We are indeed “meaning makers” by nature; so then let us find meaning in our trust for the One who does understand, and who knows exactly what he is doing.


It’s as simple as- not needing to know. I don’t need to understand. I don’t need to make or re-make grandiose plans for myself. What I need is to believe in God’s plan for me. To know that God knows what he’s doing and let that be enough for me. To understand that God understands me better than even I understand myself.


And God, who is a loving father, leads me; being taught, nurtured, and raised by the path he’s set me on.


Blessings…

Everything

The Party

At some point you get invited to a party at someone else’s house. And never really being popular or even feeling apart of anything, you feel pretty excited about going.


You arrive and there’s already some familiar faces there including the person who invited you.


There’s a stereo in the corner playing some music. There’s a couple people telling jokes and some games going on. Within a few minutes someone hands you a beer and you start to meet the others.


The alcohol helps you open up and by your second beer you’re getting relaxed, listening to stories and settling in.


The room is filling up now as more people arrive. People carrying in cases of beer and cardboard boxes full with bottles of liquor. Mixed drinks start getting passed around. Someone hands you a cocktail on ice in a red plastic cup. It’s stronger than you’re use to but tastes alright so you drink it to be polite.


Now the people are getting louder so someone turns up the music to drown out their voices. Most of the lights start turning down till there’s nothing but a thumping base in a neon glow and a cloud of cigarette smoke.


The mixed drinks are kicking in and your guard is beginning to lower so now like everyone else you’re dancing a little and having a pretty good time.


And while on the side taking a break someone passes you a joint or offers a pill or whatever; it’s all a part of the atmosphere so you smoke a little and pass it on, maybe take a pill.


Another hour slips by and you’re really having fun now as even more people show up. Good looking people. They’re dancing with you, flirting with you. And for the first time in your life your self-confidence really starts to grow!


But even with all the fun you’re not use to being out this late and you’re body’s already starting to get tired. But you don’t want to leave so you start looking for another pill or something more to smoke to keep you going. You start wandering from group to group till someone finally offers you a line.


So now you’re pretty drunk, a little high, you’ve taken a couple pills but still feel in control so just to be cautious you only accept half the line they give you and, POW! You’re on top of the world! Suddenly, everyone’s your friend. Everything you say is funny. You can talk to anyone, flirt with anyone, dance with anyone. You feel great, you look great, and everyone loves you!


And with all this new excitement you want to wander around the house even more; see what other great things there are. And why not? Everything so far just keeps getting better and better!


So with a fresh drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other you start wandering upstairs where there’s even cooler lighting, more smoke, and better music as you feel your way down the long hall with doors on each side.


And you almost fall in as you open the first door then suddenly straighten to your feet again as you see two people having sex on the bed. And you think, “Wow, that’s wild! Just two people going at it in someone else’s house! Oh well, that’s cool for them but that’s not me.” So you laugh as you apologize for interrupting but they don’t even seem to notice you as you slowly close the door.


Further down the hall you open a second door and see a woman who’s changing a baby’s diaper. The baby’s crying as babies normally do and the woman picks up a joint from the ashtray and offers you a hit. But the whole scene seems just a little out of place as you think, “There shouldn’t be a baby here. But, it’s not my baby. And at least her mothers taking care of it.” So you close the door and keep exploring.


The third room is a tornado of blue and red lights swirling around as you see a couple guys dressed like cops handcuffing a third guy you remember meeting downstairs. And one cop looks at you and smiles and say’s, “He’s going away!” You laugh thinking it’s all a joke and say, “For how long?” And the cop laughs back saying, “30 years!” But you just roll your eyes and think, “30 years, yeah right. Just for partying.”


Then suddenly a fight breaks out pulling you back into the hallway as you get slammed and rolled along the wall. But then just as quick as they came the rowdy group barrels past and you’re left with a shoulder that feels twisted and a little messed up as you straighten your shirt. But you’re alright, even a little numb, as you come to the fourth door and swing it open.


Here you see a guy lain motionless on the floor in the center of the room. There’s another guy kneeling over him with a stressed look on his face saying, “I don’t know what happened, it’s the same stuff I’m on.” And over the burnt and booze stained carpet beside them both you see that someone dropped a needle and a bent-up spoon.


So now the alcohol and weed and pills and powder are all mixing together. And you’re having trouble distinguishing the reality from the hallucinations. So you decide to go find the person who invited you for some stability.


Back downstairs you find your friend and yell out over the music, “Hey, we gotta go. There’s like cops and sex and fights and I think someone’s sick or something…” But your friend whose still smoking and drinking and snorting and laughing says, “Don’t worry about all that! That’ll fix itself. Besides that’s just them; you’re you! You’re better than that!”


And when your friend turns in the flashing lights you focus a little and can see their cheeks are sunken in. Their nose has a little blood coming from it and there’s a weird sort of scab on their forehead. And as you stand there just staring at them wondering what happened, you notice you’re rubbing your own sore shoulder. You lift your sleeve and check it for bruises but you freeze when instead you see a scab of your own starting to peel.


Now you’re realizing you don’t just need to leave this party, you need to escape this party.


And now the music is its loudest as more and more people keep crowding in. The room is packed and your vision is getting blurry. And your thoughts are getting fuzzy. You can’t remember which direction is out. You panic looking around and around while sliding along the walls, opening any door you find. But everything just leads to more smoke, more crowds.


And now everyone seems to be having sex in every corner. Fights are breaking out on the dance floor. People are passing out on the couches and going into seizures. It’s a complete nightmare and everyone’s a stranger. And you can’t remember when you first got there but it almost feels like its been weeks or even years. It’s really all just spiraling together now.


Suddenly a quick flash of white light catches your eye from a ways away. You spin toward where it came to try to find it again. It’s a window. So you fight through the crowd pushing and elbowing till you’re at its sill. And as you wipe away the fog from the glass you can see a person on the sidewalk outside. Someone with a flashlight held over their shoulder shaking it back and forth to get your attention.


You look around but there are no exits, no doors. You’re terrified and dying here! So out of fear and rage you make a fist and punch through the window. With blood pouring down your arms and off your fingertips you climb through the broken glass while people inside yell curses trying to pull at your legs.


Finally, you collapse onto the ground outside. And you run and you trip and you fall and crawl to the person who helps you up. Quickly now, they jam you into the passenger side of their car as the engine fires up and the two of you speed away.


And just barely catching your breath as you wrap your shredded arms in what’s left of your shirt; you flip down the vanity mirror in front of your head and you see that your face is a wreck. Your cheeks are dark like shadows and sunken in, your lips are cracked and bleeding. There are scabs on your nose and forehead.


“How long was I in there?” you ask in disbelief.


“Longer than you think,” the driver says.


“How long were you outside signaling for me?”


“Since the second you went in.”

With Everything

Queen Victoria once said, "I wish Jesus would come back in my lifetime. I would lay my crown at His feet."

King of Kings Skateboard Ministry

LOVE THESE GUYS!  Skate Hard brothers, Pray harder!

"I have the freedom to do anything, but not everything is helpful. I have the freedom to do anything, but I won’t be controlled by anything." -1Corintians6:12

Because He is Good

Drive

"Hey Kids, Rock and Roll

Nobody tells you where to go"

Prayer in the Shadow of Idols

It was already past 10. Those last two lines I double-barreled were kicking in fast and I was getting annoyed that the girls weren’t ready. But I knew I’d have to choose my battles that night so I poured another glass of Makers over ice, went outside, lit a cigarette and sat on the steps. It was a week before Halloween, 2001. I had been back in Minneapolis less than 5 days and still hadn't gotten use to even being in the States.
Inside, four beautiful girls from 18-25 frantically changed their outfits over and over having to re-do their hair with each new style as they cut lines of coke, smoked weed, and yelled in laughter over the blaring techno music. It was good to be back in the Twin Cities.
A couple weeks earlier I had left Mazatlan on a midnight bus toward Tijuana owning nothing but a leather suitcase full with Cuban Cigars, 3 bottles of Napoleon Brandy and about $200. It wasn’t much but enough buy, barter and trade my way to the Spearmint Rhino in Vegas where a friend of a friend said he had a job waiting for me.
Well before I even got there, the job had dissolved along with the entire tourism industry in the aftermath of the terrorist attacks leaving me sitting on a couch in an American Inn across fro the Rio with my last box of cigars, 1/2 bottle of brandy and no money while making collect calls to anyone who’d get me out and onto the next city.
The answer finally came from a stripper girlfriend named Goldie in Minnesota. She said she could get enough money from one of her regulars to fly me in but when I got there I’d have to come home with her and be her boyfriend, “This time for real.”
And I still wasn’t about to make any sort of commitment to one country, one state, or even one city, more-or-less to her but I had no other option for escaping Vegas so I agreed with a lie. Within 10 days I was back in Minneapolis sitting on those frozen cement steps, flipping up the collar of my tuxedo and wondering if we were ever going to get to this damn party.
Now fast forward almost exactly 10 years as I stand on the sidewalk outside an Alcoholics Anonymous club in Nampa, Idaho with my 52 year old brother who just hosted tonight’s meeting. In attendance were 3 middle aged women, two old men, a kid with a court-card and me.
“Gonna see you tomorrow for dinner?” I asked my brother. “Yep,” he said as he lit another hand rolled cigarette made from pipe tobacco (because it’s cheaper). “Alright then,” I said, “I’ll tell Mom we’ll be there around 4:30.” And with that I got on my bicycle and rode 3 blocks to the only late night coffee house in town.
There’s a term in AA called “Dry Drunk”. Here’s a brief description I heard blurted out during a meeting one afternoon, “I used to be a drunken, selfish, self-centered, A-Hole. And now thanks to this program, I’m a sober, selfish, self-centered, A-Hole.”
On a spiritual and slightly more literary level Edward Welch wrote, “Dry Drunks are individuals who have reformed themselves in the sense that they are sober, but who are still mastered by the demons that drove them to drink.”


I’m a dry drunk.


I’ve been sober now for 10 months and 15 days and as I sat in that coffee shop with my Bible in lap, highlighter in hand, and ear buds blaring Christian rock I couldn’t for the life of me stop staring at every pretty girl in a low cut shirt and tight jeans sitting, standing, and stalling all around me. And I’m still sizing up the clean-cut men they’re laughing with while thinking, “Wouldn’t take much to scare him off.” And as I turn my eyes away to stare out the window I can distinctly smell the smoke from one lit cigarette being exhaled over 200 feet past the front door.
And if you watched the video sermon I posted on my blog called Jesus Without Sin you’d hear Mark Driscoll describe it as, “Satan re-baits the hook.” And as I sit there in a cloudy yet open eyed fantasy of lust, violence and nicotine I think of Satan and say to myself, “What a jerk.”
But I know its more serious then that. I finish my coffee, pack up my things and shuffle quickly out the door. Half way on my ride home I’m in such a deep prayer that I have to stop my bike, get off and stand still.
When I do get home, I let my dog outside and I go into my bathroom shutting the door so it’s entirely dark. Then finally on both knees I start to pray completely.
I pray with shouts, I pray with tears, I pray with begging. I pray with anger, with despair, and with demands. I pray until I am standing in resolve again, pointing my fingers to the ceiling saying, “You are my God; you alone. You are my God.” Why? Because of Luke 11:24-26
“When the unclean spirit has gone out of a person, it passes through waterless places seeking rest, and finding none it says, ‘I will return to my house from which I came.’ And when it comes, it finds the house swept and put in order. Then it goes and brings seven other spirits more evil than itself, and they enter and dwell there. And the last state of that person is worse than the first.”
I know my house is swept. I’ve spent every day of the last 10 months cleaning every corner of wreckage from my whole life. But sometimes in all the cleanliness I can feel so… empty. And there in that little bit of space and silence, Satan temps me.
So I pray for Jesus to come and fill my house. I pray for his spirit to completely fill all of me until I finally worship Christ alone. Alcohol, Drugs, Violence, Women, all these things are the idols I worshiped all my life. Like barricades, I’ve let them be built between me and the true God. And knowing that I am created to worship, knowing I will always worship something; I get scared when in my weakness I wander back into their shadows.
And some might fault me for writing all this and un-bashfully sharing it with everyone. But you see I have to live in the open now. I have live in light. And rushing home like a child in tears, calling out for Christ, is my gospel. It’s my life. It’s my testament in faith of my trust in Christ to save me.

It's Not About Me

I needed a pick-me-up yesterday so I downloaded an audio book for my ipod; It's Not About Me, by Max Lucado. I already knew by the title that it was what I'd need to feel better. Because as I'm just now beginning to learn in life, being bright and shiny is not necessarily an inside job.
To use an analogy from Max's book, I cannot shine by looking in the mirror. I shine by turning the mirror away from me toward God so I become a reflection of His light into the world.

Temptation

I was directed to this sermon from a book called Redemption: Freed By Jesus from the Idols We Worship and the Wounds We Carry.In this sermon, Pastor Mark Driscoll breaks down Temptation to Sin (alcohol, drugs, sex, ect...) for alki, junkie, sluts like me to understand and use to fight back. It's about an hour long but if your under Satan's fire, its at least 1 hour longer you won't surrender.
I'll be praying for you.

Click this link for the sermon
http://marshill.com/media/luke/jesus-without-sin

Plank/Speck

I'm reading an awesome book called A Banquet in the Grave by Ed Welch. It’s a book on faith based addiction recovery used by the CCEF institute.
Anyway, here's a great lesson I got from pg.77-
In Matthew 7:5 Jesus says, "First remove the plank from your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brothers eye."
I had understood this analogy as a command 'Not to judge others faults'. But this book introduces the second half to that, 'How to counsel to others'.
The author says: "Seeing our own faults does not disqualify us from confronting the other person in love. Rather, Scripture indicates that confessing our own sin is the very thing that does authorize us to speak to another about his own sins. It is only then that we can speak in a way that is not judgmental."
So I went back and read the scripture again and notice it does say, "and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brothers eye." So that's pretty cool.
One lesson you learn in a lasting recovery is that helping yourself will help others, and helping others will help yourself.
The 12th step in AA says, “Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.”
It's just nice to be shown the 2,000 year old backing for that.

“For the addict dope is God. It is the Supreme Being, the Higher Power, in the junkie’s life. He is subjugated to its will. He follows its commandments. The drug is the definition of happiness, and gives the meaning of love. Each shot of junk in his veins is a shot of divine love, and it makes the addict feel resplendent with the grace of God.” -B.Meehan, Beyond the Yellow Brick Road

Sin is an ocean. There are days and even weeks that seem to quietly, almost unnoticeably drift dreamingly over her like a thin raft. But it always begins this way; drifting with a sort of silence in my head as though some music had just stopped. Something is missing. I begin to look around and wonder, “What’s wrong? What’s missing?” I’m left out, left-behind, forgotten. I feel bored. “I need to do something,” I think to myself, “I need to get something going here. I shouldn’t feel this… Old.” Then a sort of parade begins. A beautiful thought, an innocent touch, someone smile’s. I focus on it. I’m on my hands and knees now staring into the water. I check the temperature... feels nice… warm... I ease myself in.

Dead Can Dance- Rakim

Favoured son

Turn in the garden

Shades of one

Sins forgotten

Favoured signs to find hope

In the rounds of life

Favoured rhymes to find hope

In the sands of life

Favoured son

Fence in your heart

Savored son

Sins forgotten

Reaching for God

People are fundamentally the same. Cultures may have differences but as people, we are generally the same. We all have the same needs to live a happy, healthy life. Physical needs like food, shelter, clothes. Emotional needs like identity, love, and purpose.


Poverty is a term which simply means- the absence of these basic needs.


And many times we’re confused and disconnected when we try to understand wealth and poverty relationally. So here’s my simple explanation. Imagine a horizontal line. The line represents the minimum amount we need to live. We’ll call that line "Survival".


Now, do you live above or below the Survival line? How far above or below the line do you live? That’s a simple image to keep in your head.


Let’s put it into action. If you’re reading this, that means you are somewhat literate and that’s a pretty good indication that you’re above the line. And you might feel like saying, “Well yeah but just barely.” But to make our visual even simpler let me tell you, when you’re above the line it doesn’t matter how far above the line you are. You can be lower-class, middle-class, upper-class or even elitist-class and it doesn’t make a difference. It’s all above the line and no amount of distance above the line matters.


It’s when you’re below that line that everything matters. Every inch is life-threatening. So don’t think of poverty as a high-rise ghetto in South Chicago, that’s lower-class and it is inexcusably allowed in our society but, it’s mostly above Survival.


No, when addressing poverty we must think 3rd world refugee camps. Because poverty isn’t really the dirty child sitting on the grass at the freeway exit while their parent holds a sign asking for money. Poverty is a dirt field without streets or electricity where a parent holds their child who has already starved to death. That’s poverty. Got the perspective?


Now with that in mind, there is one place in all our lives where we all tremble in poverty. There is an area where we are all below the Survival line. A place where every person is born with less than the basic human need to survive. From the richest ruler who lays down to sleep in his plush satin bed, to the businessman who lays down with his wife in their 2 bedroom house, to the homeless city drunkard who lays down on a park bench, to a child asleep on the dirt floor of a hut; we all from birth live beneath this line. And every minute is a threat.


We are in a Spiritual Poverty. We are born in Spiritual Poverty like being born into a famine. We are born hungry, incomplete. Because our Spirit is a living, functioning part of our existence. But we are not born with enough of our own spirit to nourish itself and grow. And like any child who hungers without a daily amount of even minimal food, our spirit begins to starve and to weaken.


We as people are all equal in this poverty.


And somehow, instinctually we know this. It shows in the similar ways we all live. Because our whole lives can be defined as nothing more than a quest, seeking that which our spirit needs to survive. And just like a child starving in poverty we will search for and pick up and ingest anything we can to try to feed ourselves. And yes, spiritually, we’ll pick up just about anything.


Some people look for spiritual nourishment in romantic relationships with each other, some in material relationships like money and possessions, some in chemical relationships like alcohol or food and still others in religious relationships like church’s and rituals. If you’re anything like me you probably seek it in all these areas and even a few more.


We are continually being moved by the deepest demands within our hearts and minds as they groan; telling us that our two bare feet connected to this ground is not enough. There must be more. We are still incomplete. That’s why we struggle in our relationships. That is why we put crushing demands on our spouses and possessions and chemicals. We are essentially demanding them to love us more.


Because that’s the only nourishment our spirit truly needs, Love. And ultimately our spirit yearns to be loved continually. To be loved fully. To be loved unconditionally. To be loved overwhelmingly by something, anything, greater than ourselves.


This is what I see in myself and in everything around me as I experience the world and the people in it. As I ride my bike from home or from a café or from a church. I see it from a man in a Lexus driving past, to a woman waiting outside the local food bank, to two young lovers in each others arms under a tree in the park across the street. They, like me are all living with some sense of being incomplete; starving. And in that we are all in our own ways but, from the same Spiritual Poverty, reaching for God.

Overcome

You might not agree but this song has always touched me.

Apology to Myself

In order to complete a 12 week Relapse Prevention program this weekend, my councilor asked me to write a letter of Apology to Myself. Well, here it is in hopes that it might help anyone who knows what I'm talking about.

Let me first say that apologizing for my addictions sort of feels like I'm apologizing for falling face down. In one sense I don't feel responsible for it but in another I feel like I should've been watching where I was walking.


And apologizing to myself seems almost deceptive and insincere because although older, I'm no smarter or stronger or better today than I was 20 years ago when I began drinking. I can't look back as an adult with any authority as someone who’s ‘learned their lesson’ or can resolve to ‘never do it again’; I'm really still just the same person today as I was then. Only now, I know how it feels to fall.


There were signs though. There were big flashing red signs that I ignored. Alcoholism is in my family. I grew up seeing the destructiveness of alcoholism first hand. Alcoholism was a very real presence even while I was still very young. And even though I heard that big black train coming with a howling whistle screaming my name, I deliberately mocked it. I climbed to the tracks, lit a cigarette and stared into the flood of its headlight until it came to a screeching stop at my feet. I challenged it. Not with any intent to win; But I fully opened my first bottle from my Dads liquor cabinet as though it were my turn to climb on the back of the family dragon and ride for as long I as I could.


I wasn’t just drawn to alcohol early in Jr. High and High School; I was seduced into alcohol. And immediately, alcohol became a secret lover for me. Alcohol was a shelter from all my own insecurities and anxieties about life at home and school and every overall responsibility. Alcohol cradled me into a false sense of peace whispering gently that, “None of this world really matters. All that matters is the way you relax into my arms and drink me in.”


And I was smart enough to know that alcohol was not a healthy escape. I was experienced enough after having watched adult men in my family throw away jobs and love and respect as they continued drinking. In short, I knew what I was getting into. Like someone who tries Heroin for the first time. That person as they’re loading the needle has no right to say, “I have no idea that this is bad for me.” No, I knew. I knew…


And so if this is going to be any kind of apology at all then, it first has to be a confession too. Because I have to fully admit that even then, 20 years ago, I willingly accepted the lifestyle of alcohol as a fantasy-like substitute over the reality of living sober.


And by the time I was through with High School, I really had no ambitions left of being sober at all. I was already discouraged past the point of making plans for my future. I had already given up investing in myself. I had no personal will for a higher education or job training or starting a family. All I really felt qualified to do was get away, get drunk and keep drinking.


And I will not apologize for being an alcoholic. I don't know if I ever had a decision in that. But I do apologize for not caring enough about myself to resist. I apologize for letting myself rush into what I knew I should’ve run away from. I’ve allowed myself to be abused. I’ve allowed myself to be manipulated. And I’ve allowed myself to be destroyed.


So, I apologize to my body for the damage I've caused it while drinking.
I apologize to my mind for the adolescent state I've remained frozen in while drunk.
I apologize to my emotions for always repressing them into a dull pain so I wouldn't have to accept them.
I apologize to my past for allowing so many irretrievable years to be lost:
Years I spent in bars instead of college.
Years I spent in clubs instead of at home, starting a family.
Years I spent with lust instead of love.
And years I spent in hiding instead of in helping others.
I apologize to my future for any damage my past might cause me in years to come.
I apologize for having a criminal record.
I apologize for having scars, lost teeth, and any future bodily damage lingering from my old habits.
And, I apologize to my spirit for underestimating your strength.
I drown you in liquor hoping to kill you so I wouldn’t have to follow you.
I drown you in liquor to avoid listening when you told me I was meant for more.
I drown you in liquor to keep you hidden from others around me so they would never expect from me any of what you had ready to give them.
I drown you in liquor so you’d let go and just let me die.


And in these my first apologies, I still kind of feel like wrapping my fingertips around my handcuffs and holding them in tightly because I know I’m still not to be fully trusted. I’m still not stable enough to claim that I’ve stopped doing any one of these childishly destructive things.


Like I said in the beginning, I am still just the same person today as I was then. But I’ve written this letter to myself as a small attempt to quietly stand back up slowly, to dust myself off, and maybe begin to learn the reasons why I need to watch where I’m walking.

Faith at Work

It is not enough to receive the implanted word; we must obey it. There is no virtue in possessing the Bible or even reading it as literature. There must be a deep desire to hear God speaking to us and an unquestioning willingness to do whatever He says.

We must translate the bible into action.

–William MacDonald, Believers Bible Commentary

Burning Butterfly's

If you ever find yourself wanting to impress a room full of addicts bring up the subject of Nihilism. And if you want them to think you’re both cool and smart, call it Existential Nihilism. Here’s a quick overview from Wikipedia:
Most commonly, nihilism is presented in the form of existential nihilism which argues that life is without objective meaning, purpose, or value.


In an earlier essay I listed off a few authors from my bookshelf which can be used as a resource library for the Philosophic Evolution of Existential Nihilism (now I’m just trying to impress you). But if you’re not familiar with any of those authors, don’t worry, there’s no reason you should be.


Because essentially all Nihilism is, is just a bunch of spoiled adults who don’t want to accept responsibility for living. It’s a pseudo-sociological way of saying, “F-It, Nothing Matters!” while swan-diving into whatever feel-good carnality they choose.


And that was exactly the self-righteous battle cry of my escapades for years. I loved this philosophy of meaninglessness; it offered perfect freedom in both being creative and destructive simultaneously. And I think there’s a part of everyone that is drawn at least romantically to this idea of being beautiful tragedies. But addicts are the one’s who love it enough to live it.


(And if you've been able to recite these last 2 paragraphs from memory to them, I guarantee at this point they’ll be hanging on your every word)


I can still remember leaning my head back with every sip from a warm glass of scotch as I’d roll it in my mouth; mesmerized on the burning butterfly a woman’s subtle fingers will resemble, slowly turning as she inhales crack from a glass pipe. Every minute of those nights seemed like a complete testimony to life’s purpose. Not as a sadist. Not as a masochist. As a nihilist. Because to me the whole ritual was always captivatingly complete, beautiful beyond words, but ultimately, suicidal and worthless.


It’s the beauty in destruction that attracted me. Not the destruction itself. It’s the actual beauty being torn down. You see, the reason addicts are not sober is because they don’t like sobriety. We don’t like your goals. We don’t like your success. We don’t want to win. We want equality. We want you destroyed into being like us.


And it’s only by kneeling on the depravity of that crumbling platform of existence that I came from, that I can first look up and speak honestly with Jesus. Because scripture tells me that Jesus…


“made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” –Phil 2:7-8


And then it says,


“For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his." -Rom 6:5-6


So it’s as though Jesus had already become human like me, to die with me, to reach me in my death and pull me out. And I can’t think of a more beautiful and complete sacrifice to and resurrection from nihilism than that.